


red lights

by orphan_account



Series: piece by piece, rubble to rubble [7]
Category: The West Wing
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Basically, F/M, Gaza, Hurt/Comfort, Memorial Day, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, yeah its whump and what about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:40:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22874149
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: When Donna is injured in Gaza, Josh drops everything to fly halfway round the world to be at her side.
Relationships: Josh Lyman/Donna Moss
Series: piece by piece, rubble to rubble [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1644367
Comments: 58
Kudos: 215





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this will probably end up being a multi-chapter babe since Josh can't get his head out of his ass LMAO

Josh is cold. 

He shouldn’t be- he knows the West Wing is heated properly. He’s wearing at least three layers. He’s not sick. But standing in the middle of the bullpen while people rush around him, holding out phones and memos and trying to figure out what in God’s name just happened on the other side of the world- has anyone gotten ahold of Congresswoman Wyatt- No, but they’re playing footage from the explosion on CNN, Fox- Josh, Josh, you’ve gotta sit down- he’s freezing. 

There’s blood rushing in his ears. There’s a radio station in his skull only playing static interspersed with all the greatest hits- thinking he can hear his sister screaming inside a burning house, listening to his voicemail in an airport after the Illinois primary, and realizing he missed his dad’s last call, the sound of sirens and hearing his own breath grow raspier and wetter and sinking down to the ground, and what he can only imagine is Donna just screaming, screaming, screaming in pain. 

_ She was in the car that exploded.  _

Someone digs their nails into his wrist, and he’s jerked out of the static to CJ, who’s now cupping his face with her other hand. 

“Josh, can you hear me?” 

She’s equal parts worried, scared, and stern. Josh swallows thickly and nods. 

“Yeah.” He croaks out. 

“Let’s go to my office.” 

She takes his wrist again, and leads him to her office, and sits him down on her couch, and when she closes the door and finally blocks out the panic of the bullpen, Josh feels like maybe there’s air again in the room. 

With the door closed, CJ gets him a bottle of water, and then sits opposite to him. 

“Are you okay?” She asks. There’s a lot more worry than stern in that question, but Josh can’t even comprehend what she’s asking. 

“I-” He stops. “I, Donna-” 

Donna, with her golden-blonde hair that she would tuck behind her ears when it fell in front of her eyes, Donna, who always, always, looked out for the little guy, Donna who knew Josh’s favorite tea and how to get him to feel better after a long day and every single stupid inside joke- Donna. 

“Josh, you’re spacing out again. I’m really about to call Stanley.” CJ pulls him back out. She’s holding his hand, Josh realizes. 

“I- sorry.” 

“No, don’t be sorry, it’s just- We need to figure out what to do.” 

“To do?” Josh echos. 

“For Donna.” 

Another wave of ice cold washes over Josh, and he thinks he’s going to be sick. He pulls his hand away and jumps up, backing himself into the furthest corner away from CJ. 

“Is she-?” 

He can’t even finish the question. Can’t,  _ won’t _ , comprehend the reality that comes into existence if she’s about to answer it like he thinks she’s going to. 

CJ’s eyes widen. 

“No! God, no, Josh! You didn’t hear in the bullpen?” 

“I couldn’t hear anything in the bullpen.” He says truthfully. 

“She’s been pulled out. She’s on her way to Germany, to the military hospital in Rammstein.” 

No casket, but how many pieces is she in-

“But how bad-” 

“I don’t know.” CJ says. She gets up and approaches slowly, like she’s afraid he’ll bite. “But what are you going to do?” 

“I have to..” 

Suddenly, like a snap, like the circuits have been flipped, he realizes. 

“CJ, I have to go. Now. I’m going to Germany.” 

CJ doesn’t look surprised. 

“Josh, what about Leo, what about-” 

“I have to.” There’s tears pricking at his eyes. He can feel them. “She’s alone. What if she...What if she.. And there’s no one with her?” 

CJ stares at him for a moment. Then she crosses the room, and hugs him tightly. 

“I understand. Go.” 

So Josh does. She lets him go, and he’s half-running down the hall, ignoring shouts of his name, trying desperately not to listen to the news, and he grabs his backpack, and he goes. 

* * *

  
  


By the time the plane lands, Josh thinks he may just have a panic attack on the tarmac. 

Ten hours with no service, no access of any kind. Just his overactive imagination and thus ability to see, with crystal clarity, all the ways that Donna dies in excruciating pain because Josh wasn’t there.

By some miracle, with only 10% of his brain working, Josh makes it to the hospital, flashes his credentials to a thoroughly unimpressed nurse, and finally makes it to Donna’s floor. 

“Mr. Lyman-” A doctor is crossing the hallway. “I’m Ms. Moss’ surgeon.” 

It’s present tense. Good? Bad? 

“Is she- I haven’t had access to my phone, I don’t know anything, is she-” Josh scratches at his wrist, not registering the stinging pain of raw skin. 

“She’s stable.” The surgeon says. 

Stable. Stable. Stable. She's still alive. 

Josh sags. He thanks a God he hasn’t prayed to in years. He hopes Toby’s faithful attendance at Shul every weekend has covered them both. 

The doctor is giving him an odd look. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” 

“I- I’m fine. But what happened to Donna?” 

“She suffered a collapsed lung and a compound fracture.” 

“Collapsed lung.”

Josh doesn’t fully flashback, thank Christ, since his brain is basically a wrung out dishrag at this point, but he brings his hand to his chest and feels the bumpy ridge of scar tissue beneath his fingers, and remembers his inability to breathe properly for months at a time. 

Still, years later, he wakes up from nightmares and can’t quite catch his breath. 

“Yes, but we’ve already begun to re-inflate it and seen no issues.” The surgeon cuts into the half-dissociative state he’s sunk into, and Josh shakes himself. 

“And the compound fracture?” 

‘Well, compound is where the bone breaches the skin- and Ms. Moss had several.” 

Josh feels bile rise to his mouth, and so many screams bounce off his brow bone he grabs the wall. 

  
He waves off the surgeon when he tries to reach for him. This isn’t about him. Jesus. 

“But is she going to be okay? “ 

“Well, the lung should re-inflate itself within 24-48 hours, and with several months of physical therapy, she should be alright. So yes, she’s going to be okay.” 

That knot in his stomach is still there, the static behind his eyes is only getting louder, but Josh feels his lungs expand just a bit more. 

“Can I- Can I see her, please?” 

“Of course.” 

He leads him down a hallway, and shows him into a room. Where on the bed, there’s a blonde woman, who’s so anemically pale, so beaten and battered, with oxygen under her nose, with a leg wrapped in bandages and held still with rods, that Josh almost stops to ask if they got the room right. But then he sees the file at her bed that tells him in no uncertain terms that this is, in fact, the MOSS, DONNATELLA, that he sent into the jaws of death. 

Josh swallows thickly. Tries not to think about the scar tissue in his lungs, and to breathe. He drops his backpack and he sits next to her. 

For the next several hours, there is just Josh, watching Donna’s chest rise and fall steadily, trying to convince himself that she is right here, this isn’t some horrible maladaptive dream his brain concocted to cope with the fact that she died in Gaza. 

She’s here. She’s alive. 

He takes her hand, and he squeezes it tightly. She doesn’t squeeze back, but her skin is pink, and blood is still flowing. She’s alive. She’s alive. 

* * *

At some point, night turns to day without Josh realizing. A nurse comes in and bends over Donna, checking something. Josh is slumped in his chair at this point, but straightens up like he’s been shocked when he hears her say, 

“Well, hi there. You just wake up?” 

“My mouth is dry.” Donna mumbles. 

“I’ll get you some water.” The nurse says kindly. 

Josh feels his stomach churn. He gets up. Donna is blinking blearily, like she can’t comprehend quite what’s happening. 

“Hey,” He says softly. 

“What happened to you?” she asks. 

“Wha- What happened to me?” Josh asks. On some level, he knows she’s drugged six ways to Sunday and probably can’t remember farther back than from when she just opened her eyes, but Josh still can’t believe that this woman, this incredible woman, is in a hospital bed in a foreign country with life-threatening injuries, and is still worried about him. 

“You need to shave.” She says, and she even sighs a little, like they’re back at his desk, and he has five meetings before lunch and doesn’t look quite up to her standards. 

“I-I haven’t really had time-” 

“Where am I?” She interrupts. She closes her eyes and screws up her face like she’s in pain, and it’s another gut punch that threatens to lay him flat on his back. 

“You’re in Germany.” He answers. 

She crack her eyes open again. 

“It doesn’t look like Germany.” She says critically. 

“You’re actually in a military-” 

“Here you go, honey.” The nurse returns with some water and wraps Donna’s hand around it, helping her bring it to her lips. Josh jumps forward immediately to help bring the cup to her face.

“She’s not German.” Donna observes. Because of course, Josh is literally helping her drink because of how injured she is, and her base instinct is still to argue with him. It almost makes him want to smile. 

The nurse does smile at that. 

“This is true. Just squeeze that clicker if you need some morphine- it’s going to take some time to orient yourself.” 

“He needs to shave…” Donna mumbles. Her eyes are shutting again. She’s only half here, so beat to hell. Josh can barely stand it. He feels like he’s going to implode with the slightest touch. 

* * *

She goes to sleep after the nurse draws some blood, so Josh stands as far from her as he can while still having her in his sight line, and calls CJ back. 

“Josh?” she answers on the second ring. “How is she?” 

“She’s uh, okay. Not so lucid, but she’s okay.” 

“What happened? I mean, how bad?”    
“Compound fractures in her leg and her lung collapsed. She, uh, doesn’t look so good.” Josh knows his voice cracks, and he prays CJ doesn’t notice, because he seriously doesn’t think he’ll survive any real questioning right now. But CJ Cregg is the press secretary for a reason. 

“Josh…” She says, “Is she going to survive?” 

“Yes, yes, the doctor says she ‘s going to be fine-”    
“Then I need you to take a real deep breath and pull it together a little. She’s going to be fine.” 

Josh knows what she’s saying makes sense, but he can also see every bruise on her face from here, even the one under her right eye that’s so deeply purple it’s almost black. 

“When did you last sleep?” CJ asks. 

“I, uh..” 

“Okay Josh, you gotta give yourself a fighting chance here. Please let her know we’re all thinking of her. Oh, that does remind me- Toby asked me to tell you something-” There’s some rustling on the other end. “I had to write it down. He wanted me to tell you he said the  _ Mi Shebeirach _ for Donna- am I saying that right?” 

Josh’s mouth is dry. He’s stunned into silence. 

“Y-yeah, you said it right.” He says, finally. “That’s right. Is Andy okay?” 

“She’s fine. Toby is at Andrews to meet her- there’s not a scratch on her.” 

“Good. I’m glad. I’m really glad.” 

“Me too.” CJ says quietly. “Listen, keep me posted, yeah?” 

“Yeah. Talk to you later.” 

“Bye.” 

Josh hangs up, and wonders at Toby Ziegler and his infinite ability to love, even under an extreme gruff exterior. When he sits down next to Donna, he brushes a hand over hers, and he tries to remember the words to a prayer long forgotten. 

* * *

He doesn’t really sleep. More just closes his eyes for short intervals while half-listening for the beep of her monitors. Around 10, she wakes up again, this time with her breaths short and staccato. 

“Donna?” Josh wouldn’t dare shake her awake, settles for gently touching her shoulder, where he’s pretty sure she’s not so terribly bruised. “Donna, you’re okay-” 

Her eyes fly open, and she looks terrified with eyes wide and bloodshot. It takes a few seconds for her to register anything at all. 

“You’re here.” She breathes out. She’s still not fully here, Josh can guess from the tears leaking from her eyes, the slur of her voice. 

‘Yeah, of course I’m here. Of course.” 

“I thought-” She squeezes her eyes shut, tears track down her face, stopped short by the oxygen tube in her nose. “I thought I dreamt that.” 

His heart constricts painfully, and he thumbs away the tears gently. 

“No,” he says. “No, I'm here. I’m not going anywhere.” 

“Y-you flew to Germany?” 

“Yeah, first flight I could find.” 

She stares at him. 

“I’m so- it hurts so bad-” She breaks into a half sob. Josh knows deeply, intimately, what that kind of pain feels like. He reaches for her morphine clicker, places it in her hands, and helps her press it. 

“Okay, okay. It’s gonna feel better in a second.” He whispers. Donna seems to relax, infinitesimally. 

“Don’t leave. “ She says. She stares directly at him, and Josh thinks this is the closest they’ve gotten to discussing the line that they lept over years ago, and are now several miles passed. Josh can’t bring himself to care. At all. 

“I’m not going anywhere. We’ve got a deal.” He pushes back her hair. 

“Deal?” 

“No stopping for red lights. Remember?” 

Donna even smiles a little at that, even as tears leak from her eyes, and she settles down and squeezes his hand. 

“Don’t leave.” She repeats. Josh can barely breath. 

“Never.” 

He’d have done so much more than jumped a plane from DC to Germany for her. He’d have razed entire continents, moved mountains, lifted houses straight off the ground. 

He’d run every red light. 

  
  


:


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For legal reasons and by “legal reasons” I mean “I don’t like him and think he was only placed there so that Josh wouldn’t immediately confess his undying love for Donna”, Colin will not be making an appearance in this fic. Mazel tov.

Chiara Moss turns out to be a tall, blonde woman, the spitting image of Donna but twenty-five years older, Josh thinks. Her hands are trembling when Josh goes to the lobby to get her, but there’s a firm resolve behind her eyes that makes him think that perhaps, Donna is her mother’s child. 

“Mrs. Moss, we spoke on the phone, I’m-” 

“Josh.” She ignores his outstretched hand and goes directly in for a hug, pulling him in tightly. He’s shocked for a second, but then returns it. For a moment, he wishes his own mother was here. 

“Thank you.” Mrs. Moss says. “Thank you for being there.” 

A wave of guilt the size of the Chrysler building wells up in his stomach. He wasn’t there- he was the one who sent her, he nearly killed her- 

“How is she doing?” 

“Better.” Josh clears his throat and digs his nails into his palms to try and ground himself. They move towards the elevator. “Her lung is nearly re-inflated, and once they feel she’s stable enough, they’ll have her on a flight to Walter Reed. You got into your hotel okay?” 

“Yes, thank you so much for setting that up- you’ll have to send me the bill, it must have cost you a small fortune-” 

Josh waves it off. “It’s nothing. You should be with your daughter.” 

Mrs. Moss smiles tiredly. 

“Donna was right about you.” She says. 

Josh desperately wants to know what that means, but the elevator dings, and Mrs. Moss hurries out of it and quickly into Donna’s room. 

Josh hangs back by the doorway, as Mrs. Moss lets out a quiet ‘oh!”, drops her bag, and rushes to her daughter’s side. 

“Hi, baby,” She says softly. Josh watches as Donna’s eyes open blearily, then settle on her mother. 

“Mom?” she asks. She sounds so small. Like she’s a kid again. 

“Yeah, sweetheart, it’s me.” 

“Mom…” Mrs. Moss bends over and strokes her daughter’s hair, and Donna’s face screws up. Josh is about to cross the room in three strides, force the morphine clicker into her hand, but then he realizes she’s crying. 

“Mom, I’m so….it hurts, Mom.” 

She’s really sobbing now, Mrs. Moss is trying her best to console, and Josh feels like he shouldn’t be watching this. He shouldn’t be here. 

His throat is rapidly closing off. He can’t be here. 

He steps out of the room and slides down the wall until he’s sitting with his head to his knees. He can still hear Donna, gasping in-between sobs, her mother murmuring softly. The static is filling his head again. 

He doesn’t remember so much from after Rosslyn. His first distinct memory was from nearly 48 hours later. He had woken up to a pain in his chest so all-encompassing he could barely gasp. He remembers Donna’s exhausted face swimming above him as she screamed for a nurse, and remembers a crash code being thrown. But besides that, he doesn’t remember much. The pain had taken up every inch of his existence. Is that how Donna is feeling?

Donna, sobbing on that bed. Donna, in all-encompassing agony. Donna. Donna. Donna. 

He doesn’t realize he’s also crying until the hot tears have begun to soak his collar. Jesus. He’s so tired. He’s so exhausted. 

* * *

  
  


“Josh?” 

There’s a warm hand on his shoulder, and he jerks his head up. It’s Mrs. Moss. Her face is blotchy-red, just like Donna’s gets when she cries.

“Are you okay?” 

“Uh,” Josh isn’t sure he’s even awake right now, let alone okay. “I’m just. It’s really hard.” 

He’s not too sure why he’s confessing this to Donna’s mother of all people, but he’s so goddamned exhausted he just wants any comfort in any form. He’d probably tell the President all his innermost secrets right now if he called and offered his remorse. 

Her face softens. Mrs. Moss sits down on the floor beside him. 

“I know it is. She’s, uh, asleep now.” 

“Good.” Josh croaks out. “I’m sorry.”  
  
“Sorry?”

“I’m sorry I left. When Donna’s in pain, it’s like…” 

“It’s like you’re in pain.” She finishes. 

“Yeah.” Josh says. “Yeah, how’d you know?”

She gives a little shrug. There’s a small, knowing smile on her lips. 

“It’s what happens when you love someone.” 

For a moment, Josh freezes up, and he’s transported back into the world of professional politics. He feels an inexplicable need to explain away his relationship with Donna like he’s done hundreds of times- We’re just good friends, we’re very close, but we’ve been dating other people- they all die on his lips. 

He’s sitting on a dirty hospital floor thousands of miles from the White House, in a suit that hasn’t been changed in over 60 hours, and he’s been awake for that long as well. He’s sitting next to Donna’s mother, and Donna is only a few feet away with a shattered leg and destroyed lung from a bomb. He could have lost her. He nearly lost her. 

Josh can’t. He just can’t. 

“Yeah.” He agrees. He’s crying again. Jesus. Why can’t he stop crying? 

“Oh, Josh,” Mrs. Moss wraps her arms around him. “It’s going to be alright.” 

“Sorry.” He says again. “I’m sorry.” 

He’s not sure entirely what he’s apologizing for. Sorry that I love your daughter? Sorry I sent her on a trip that nearly killed? Sorry that you’re comforting me when I should be comforting you?

“I’m so sorry.” 

* * *

  
  


He ends up sending Mrs. Lyman to the hotel and settling back into the couch by Donna’s bed. CNN is playing softly in the background, and Donna’s monitors beep with the assured timing of good vitals. Josh sits on the couch and half-dozes, eyes snapping open at every opening door, every breath a little out of place. But Donna sleeps through the night, and Josh even manages twenty consecutive minutes.

It’s a good night that turns into a good morning. 

“You really need to shave.” 

Josh is either hallucinating, which, at this point in his exhaustion, he hasn’t ruled out, or that’s Donna talking to him. 

He cracks one dry eye open and finds Donna awake and giving him the most level expression he’s seen in days. 

It’s early dawn; there’s a light blue glow over the room that casts Donna’s face into half-shadow. Josh thinks he hasn’t seen anything quite so beautiful before. 

“Hi,” he says. He takes one of her hands and gives it a squeeze. When she squeezes back, he almost feels normal. 

“Hi,” she says. Her voice is gravelly. “You need to shave.” 

Josh feels his cheeks. It’s past the point of being able to call it stubble now. 

“You told me that already.” He teases. He sits down on her bed. “I told you, I’ve been busy.” 

“Mm,” Donna closes her eyes for a second. The bruising around one has deepened even further. 

“How are you feeling?” 

She cracks one eye open and looks at him critically. 

“Like I got blown up.” She says. The words hit him hard, and it takes several deep breaths to push down the lump that appears in his throat. 

“Josh?” 

He looks back at her. 

“What’s wrong?” She’s still holding his hand. 

“I’m just- I’m really glad you’re safe.” He says. It’s an evasion. But the last thing he needs is for her to feel the weight of his guilt. 

But Donna is Donna, even when she’s temporarily lucid from the haze of pain and opioids. She gives him that look that means she knows exactly what’s going on inside his head and why he won’t say it out loud. 

“I’m really glad you’re here.” She says softly. “Really glad.” 

He doesn’t really know what he’s doing, other than that he’s found himself with his head down on the bed, with Donna’s hand in his hair while he clutches the other one. And if he’s crying, again, it’s no one’s business but his own. 

* * *

  
  


He gets banished to the cafeteria once Mrs. Moss arrives, and Donna learns, horrified, that he hasn’t eaten in two days. 

“I stole some of your jell-o yesterday?” Josh offers. He really hasn’t thought about food. 

“Go! Out!” Donna says. “Before I throw something at you!” She mimes picking up her pillow, and Josh grins, raises his hands in mock defeat and walks out of the room. 

Turns out hospital food in Germany is no better than the US. He’s picking at a sandwich and a cup of coffee when his phone rings again. 

“Josh Lyman,” he answers with his mouth half-full. 

“Hey, it’s CJ,” she sounds distracted. Josh can hear phones going off in the background, people yelling. 

“Sounds pretty hectic over there.” He notes. 

“We’re holding down the fort. How’s Donna?” 

“Better. We had an actual conversation today and they think she could potentially be transferred to Walter Reed tomorrow.”

“That’s great, Josh! Give her my love. Listen, have you been keeping up with the news?” 

“Uh…”

To be honest, Josh’s world had begun and ended with the ten square feet of Donna’s hospital room. 

“Not really.” He answers. 

“Okay. Well, I just wanted to let you know that Roll Call’s got the story.” 

“What story?”

“Donna. You.” 

“Me?” 

“Yes, Josh, you.” 

“But Donna’s the one who…”

“Deputy White House Chief of Staff takes off in the middle of peace talks to jetset to Germany and see his injured assistant? It’s a story, Josh.” 

There’s several layers of insinuation behind CJ’s words that twist Josh’s stomach. 

“CJ, I-I had to.” 

“I know.” Her voice softens for a minute. “I know you did. But I need some plausible deniability here. Were you and Donna engaged in an affair before all of this?” 

Despite popular belief. Josh isn’t stupid. He knows what people say behind his back. Or, in the case of Joey Lucas and Amy Gardner, to his face. He knows how this looks. Josh thinks back to every plane ride sitting next to each other, throwing snowballs at her window, “You’re going to have to sit in someone’s lap”, every beautiful dress she wore to every fundraiser, all the times she’d responded to his sass with more sass- 

“No.” He answers. It comes out bitter on his tongue. “We weren’t.” 

“Okay. That’s all I need to know.” CJ says. 

Something is tugging at him. 

“CJ,” Josh says. “but if I-“ 

“If you?” 

“I-I don’t know.” He loses whatever thread he’d been about to pull on. 

“Okay, mi amour. I love you and Donna both very much, but I’ve got to go stop the President from attempting to claim that these talks will bring world peace. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Later.” Josh echos. 

* * *

  
Chiara Moss has been in awe of her middle child for several years. Don’t get her wrong- listening to her daughter nervously tell her over the phone that she had left her boyfriend, packed up everything she owned, and driven to New Hampshire with no real plan had almost given her a heart attack. But every time she saw Donna mentioned online or in the newspaper, she couldn’t help but feel so proud she almost burst. 

And almost every time she was mentioned, it was next to the line, “assistant to Deputy COS Josh Lyman” (or, one memorable occasion, as “Deputy Deputy COS”). Donna had mentioned him for the first time a few weeks after she’d gotten to New Hampshire, telling her mother far too casually that she had gotten sick on the campaign trail.

“-and Josh ended up taking me to urgent care at 3 AM. I felt so bad, he had this big meeting the next morning-“

“Josh?” She had interrupted her daughter, pausing chopping carrots for dinner. “Who’s Josh?” 

“My boss.” 

Chiara blinked. 

“Your boss took you to urgent care at 3 AM?” 

“Well yeah, but we were up anyways-“ 

“You were with your boss at 3 AM?”

“Yes? We were, uh, looking over some polls for Nevada,” 

“Donna,” Chiara said. 

“Mom, it’s not like that! We’re just...close.” Donna had responded indignantly. “Really close.” 

Close. 

Huh. 

They were on a medical C-130, a first for Chiara, about halfway through the flight to Andrews. Donna had been given a light sedative, but before she had knocked out, had told Josh in no uncertain tone that he had to sleep too. Josh refused to leave her side, despite being told repeatedly by the nurse on board that there plenty of open cots for him to take. A compromise was struck, which involved Josh sitting by the edge of Donna’s bed, his head by her arm. Her hand was thrown over his hair, like she had been stroking through it, and both were passed out. Chiara could see from her seat, several feet away, how deep and dark the bags under Josh’s eyes were. And she could also see the desperation with which he was clinging to her daughter. 

“Really close”. 

Sure. 

* * *

  
  


“Josh!” 

Now that was a voice he hadn’t heard in days. Josh wheeled around and found Toby, hurrying down the hallway towards him, a big teddy bear and bouquet of flowers in hand. 

“Toby-” 

“Jesus, you look horrible.” Toby said when he reached him. “Terrible, really.” 

“God, Toby, you truly are the most supportive member of the senior staff.” Josh said dryly. 

“I cultivated that reputation carefully.” Toby said. “Seriously. Have you slept? Showered? Changed your clothes? Done any of the normal things that grown adults do when they’re part of a civilized society?” 

“Did you come all the way to Walter Reed to rag on me about my appearance?” 

“No, I came to see Donna. You’re merely an afterthought.” Toby said dismissively. “But for the sake of everyone else in this hospital, you should really consider, you know, basic hygiene. Are you doing okay?” 

Josh sagged a little. They’d landed at Andrews around 3 AM, DC time. Josh had managed to sleep for a few hours before being woken up to a call from Leo at 6. Donna was in a round of respiratory therapy and he had been banished to the cafeteria to, yet again, pick at a sandwich, drink four cups of coffee, and answer the hundreds of emails that had piled up. It was like the moment they had landed back in DC, real life had flown back at his face. 

He was Deputy Chief of Staff to, you know, the President. And he’d been missing in action for four days. He was pretty sure someone from Heard on the Hill was going to accost him in a doorway pretty soon. So, instead of answering the question, Josh went with a true politico’s move, and evaded. 

  
“You pick that out yourself?” He quirked his chin at the bear that Toby was clutching from one hand. 

Toby looked down, like he, too, was surprised he was holding it. 

“Uh, no, Andy did. I thought Molly was about to wrestle it from my hands when she saw it.” 

“I think you could probably take her.” Josh said thoughtfully. “She’s pretty small, still.” 

“Yeah, but she’s got her mother’s stubbornness. I’ll drop dead of a heart attack by the time she’s sixteen.” 

“So then you’ve got a few good years left.” 

They started to move down the hall towards Donna’s room, but Toby stopped short outside the doorway. 

“How is she?” He asked in a low tone. 

Josh swallowed. 

“Um, better. She’s been having some trouble controlling her pain. Been complaining of chest pain all day.” 

Toby made a face and placed a hand over his own chest. 

“Is her lung..” 

Josh nodded. 

“Yeah, it’s re-inflated. They still have her on extra oxygen. You know how it is with lungs, it can take a second to bounce back.” 

Toby gave a small chuckle. 

“Yeah, I remember.” 

Toby went to turn the door knob, but Josh stopped him. 

“Toby,” He said. “Thank you.” 

“For what?” Toby feigned ignorance. “This hideous teddy bear? It’s not for you, Josh, it’s for your long-suffering assistant-” 

“No. Thank you. For praying.” 

Toby stood still.

“Oh,” he said. 

“It really did help. Thank you.” 

Toby cleared his throat. 

“Of course, Josh. I’ll continue to.” 

“Yeah,” Josh said softly. He was sure Toby would. “C’mon.” 

He opened the door, and they went in to see Donna and to add to her growing arboretum


	3. Chapter 3

The afternoon brought a sunset that cast half the room in a beautiful, deep red light. Donna dozes through a recent pain med dose while Josh answers emails, and Mrs. Moss steps out to update Donna’s father and siblings, who would be coming down soon. CNN plays quietly in the background. 

There’s a soft knock on the door and Josh looks up to see CJ standing in the doorway in work clothes, a big bouquet in her hands. 

“CJ!” Josh gets up immediately to hug her. 

‘Hi, Josh.” She says. “Donna’s-”   
“Napping. She might be up soon but I don’t want to wake her, she’s had a tough day.” 

“No, of course not. I just wanted to stop by and bring you these-” She holds up the flowers. “-and talk to you a bit.” 

CJ places the flowers on the windowsill next to a massive bouquet from the Bartlets. 

She gives Josh a once over and wrinkles her nose. 

“Have you even been back to your apartment?” She asks

“Uh. Yes?” 

“You’re a terrible liar, Lyman. Try again.” 

“No.” 

“Thought so. How are you still alive?” 

Josh shrugs and motions for CJ to sit next to him. 

“Spite, mostly.” 

CJ laughs, and Josh feels himself get a little closer to normal. 

“Is she doing okay?” She looks over at Donna in the bed. “I’ve been so worried, I get a lot of questions..” 

“A lot better. No signs of infections and she’s been able to stay awake for a few hours at a time.”

“That’s great.” CJ says genuinely. “I know a report’s been sent to the White House, I’ll brief the press tonight.”   
“On Donna?” Josh asks confusedly. 

CJ sighs, long-suffering. 

“Yes, on Donna. She’s been a bit of a focal point recently.” 

Something clicks in his tired, overwrought brain.

“The  _ Roll Call _ article.” Josh said.

“And  _ In the Know _ ,  _ The Hill,  _ and Stu Winkle’s column.” 

Josh runs his hands through his hair and spends a moment staring at the yellowing bruises on Donna’s face. 

“Why does everyone care?” He asks quietly. “Why can’t they just leave us alone?”

CJ seems to understand what he’s actually asking. 

“I know. It’s not easy. You have to understand, Josh, the optics of it-” 

“I don’t care about optics-” 

“You don’t have to care about optics, but you damn well have to care about Donna’s career.” CJ says. “Do you know what will happen if this picks up serious traction? Her reputation could be ruined, Josh. Ruined. Everyone and their mother will be convinced that she slept her way to the top-” 

“But we haven’t even-” 

“It. Doesn’t. Matter.” CJ says. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry. But it doesn’t matter. The rumors alone are enough.” 

Josh knows she’s right. Knows they've been skirting around a dangerous minefield, getting by with only slightly transparent jealousy, an entirely unprofessional relationship, and some extremely transparent flirting. 

He also knows that Donna is brilliant, kind, and incredibly detail-oriented. Had she been anyone else’s assistant, she would have been promoted to at least a mid-level staffer by now, if not a full-blown deputy. He knows she deserves that opportunity. To blow it because he….is what he is, is so completely selfish. 

Josh swallows the lump in his throat and turns towards CJ. 

“What am I supposed to do?” He asks. She seems to soften at his tone. 

“I’m not sure.” She admits. “But please don’t feed into the gossip.”

“Am I supposed to leave her?” He barely gets the question out. 

“No, Joshua. You don’t have to leave her.” 

Josh opens his mouth to respond, but there’s a whimper from Donna’s bed. CJ watches as Josh’s demeanor changes entirely and he jumps up to be at her side. 

The whimper grows into something resembling panic. CJ can only think of Josh’s bad period around Christmas a few years ago. 

“Donna, Donna-” Josh whispers. CJ watches him take one of her hands, the other gently smoothing back her hair. “Donna, I’m right here.”

Donna’s eyes fly open, and they only meet Josh’s. 

“Josh.” She says, “You’re still here.”

“Yeah, sweetheart. I told you, I’m not going anywhere.” 

_ Sweetheart.  _

Oh, fuck, CJ thinks. 

“Okay.” Donna says quietly. CJ can even see from where she’s frozen on the couch that there’s tears in Donna's eyes. 

“Did you have a nightmare?” Josh asks her softly.

She nods, her eyes closing. 

“The SUV?” 

Another nod. 

“Okay. It’s the meds, Donna, remember what the nurse said?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Okay. Listen, I’m right here. You can go back to sleep.” 

Donna nods once more, and without even noticing there’s someone else in the room, squeezes Josh’s hand and closes her eyes..

CJ waits until she’s sure Donna’s asleep again, and goes over and taps Josh on the shoulder. He jerks up, like he forgot CJ was even there. She motions for him to follow her out into the hallway. 

Josh leaves the door open, and it’s not lost on CJ that he makes sure she’s still in his sight line, even if they’re only five feet away. He’s looking at her warily, like he knows what she’s about to bring up. 

“Josh-” CJ starts. 

“Don’t.” Josh says. He scrubs his face with his hands. “Don’t.” 

“Josh, listen to me,” 

“No, CJ, I know.” 

  
Josh’s hair is standing up on end, and there’s a wild look on his face as he paces away from her. 

“No, I don’t think you do.” CJ says. 

“I know it’s bad. But I just. I can’t.” 

He turns towards her, and CJ finally sees the tears in his eyes. 

“Oh, Josh.” 

CJ walks up to him slowly, and throws her arms around his shoulders. 

For a second, he’s still, but then he reciprocates, clinging tightly to her. CJ can feel the hot tears on her shoulder.  After a while, they pull apart, and Josh starts wiping at his eyes, apparently embarrassed by his uncharacteristic display of vulnerability. 

“It’s not just a...it’s not little, with her, is it?” CJ asks. 

Josh shakes his head. He looks tired. He looks exhausted. 

“No.” He says hoarsely. “It’s not. It hasn’t been for a long time” 

“Okay, mi amour.” CJ says. “Then we’ll figure it out.” 

“But how-” 

“I don’t know. But we will. I have to head back to the office, but you gotta get some rest soon, yeah?”

Josh nods again. 

“Okay.” He says. 

CJ smiles at him, and watches as he goes back into the room and pulls a chair close to Donna’s bed, opens his laptop, and gets back to work. 

Later, back at the office, she would tell Carol under her breath and claim she knew it. Carol would wave a hand dismissively and tell her the assistants had a pool going around for years that just kept getting more valuable with every year passed and no declaration of love. 

“Well,” CJ would say. “Someone’s about to get very rich.” 

* * *

  
  
When Chiara returns from the cafeteria, she finds Josh slumped over in his seat, computer still on his lap. His head is bent at an awkward angle so that it’s right over the rail of Donna’s bed, and Donna, yet again, has a hand in his hair. She opens her eyes slightly as Chiara came in. 

“Hi,” Donna says hoarsely. 

“Hi, honey.” Chiara sits down on the other side of her daughter. Donna is looking a little better, bruises beginning to lessen in intensity. “How are you feeling?” 

“Eh.” 

Josh stirs in his sleep, and Donna shifts her gaze over to him, still unable to move very much. 

“He doesn’t look very good.” Chiara notes. Josh had begun to take on a somewhat corpse-like quality, eyes becoming more sunken by the hour, hair standing up every which way. 

“No.” Donna says. “He..doesn’t want to leave. I’ve tried.” 

“Hmm.” 

For a moment, Chiara says nothing, weighing in her head the benefits of saying anything. But Donna, ever perceptive, catches on before she’s made a decision. 

  
  
“I know.” Donna says quietly. She clumsily picks up her hand and brings it back down in Josh’s hair. 

“You know?” 

“I...know. About Josh. I’ve known for a long time.” 

Chiara has spent nearly three years trying to coax that exact sentence out of her middle child’s mouth. But to have it happen here, now, while she recovers from life-threatening injuries in a military hospital, exhausted and scared, and now, Chiara sees, crying. 

“Oh, honey.” She immediately gets up and gets a tissue to gently wipe her daughter’s face. “Baby, it’s okay.” 

“It’s not.” Donna mumbles. “It’s not okay.” 

“Do you feel the same?” 

Donna looks away, her breath hitching in her chest. After a beat she answers. 

“Yes.” 

“Baby, it’s all going to be okay.” 

“But-” 

“Donna?” Josh suddenly stirs again. “Crying? You crying?”  He pulls his head up and blinks blearily, clearly having trouble getting his bearings. Donna’s hand moves from his head to his cheek. 

“No, I’m alright.” She says softly. 

“No, you’re crying, what’s wrong-” He suddenly seems to wake up entirely, upon seeing her red eyes. 

“I’m okay.” She says. 

“Alright.” He relaxes a little, slumping back down his seat. Donna puts her hand down, and Josh scrubs aggressively at his eyes. 

“Though, I think you need to go home.” Donna adds. Her tone is matter-of-fact, a complete 180 from only a few seconds ago. 

That gets his attention. 

“Donna-” his tone is strangled. 

“Josh, I’m serious, you look like you were in an explosion yourself.”

Donna is neutral, but Chiara doesn’t miss how Josh seems to flinch. She hasn’t forgotten, several years ago, seeing the news that the President had been shot. The news came through that there had been two other casualties that night- Josh, and an unnamed woman. Chiara had been so sure it was Donna, had added to the clogged White House switch boards until Donna had finally called her at 6 AM from the hospital, exhausted and clearly crying, and told her that she hadn’t even been there, but that they weren’t so sure Josh was going to make it. The devastation in her tone, how she could only barely choke the words out, only confirmed for Chiara what she already knew. 

“Josh-” Chiara interrupts their bickering and places a hand on his arm. “You should go shower and sleep, eat some real food. I’m not going anywhere. I promise.” 

Josh stops, looks at her, and then sends a sweeping glance up and down Donna. 

“Are you sure? I just know-” 

“Pumpkin patch, if you don’t go to sleep in an actual bed I’m going to call the Secret Service on you. I’m fine.” Donna says. 

Josh breaks into an actual grin at that. 

“Okay. Fine. But call me, every hour.”

“No deal-” 

“Deal.” Chiara says firmly. She understands. She gets it. “Go.” 

Josh gathers his stuff, then seems to hesitate by Donna’s bed, like he isn’t sure what to do. Then he hesitantly leans down and kisses her forehead. 

“I’ll be back.” He says. “I promise.” 

“I know. Get out.” Donna smiles at him. “Go.” 

“Okay.” 

He leaves, glancing back at her one more time before actually going down the hall. 

Donna sinks into her pillows and closes her eyes. She seems more tired now than ten minutes ago. It’s silent for a while. 

“ ‘Pumpkin Patch’?” Chiara teases, finally, when she’s sure Josh is at least on the elevator. 

Donna cracks open her one un-bruised eye and gives her mother the best stink-eye she can manage. 

“Listen-” She starts. 

But she falls silent. She’s got one hand over her heart.    
  


“Donna?” Chiara asks. She sits on the edge of her seat, ready to hit the call button. 

“My chest-” She says again. “It just keeps hurting.”

* * *

Josh hasn’t been back to his apartment in six days. 

Oh God, does that mean he’s been wearing the same clothes for six days? 

No, no, CJ had brought him a change of clothes that one time. 

Eugh. No. He needs a shower. 

  
  


He turns the water on to as high as he can and stands under the heat, watching his skin turn bright red. 

God. He’s just so tired. When he raises his arms to scrub at his scalp, they feel like lead. He absently washes out the shampoo and watches it swirl down the drain. It seems tinged red, and Josh blinks a few times until it goes away.  There’s a small twinge in his chest and he reflexively traces the scar that covers most of his sternum. 

He’s fine. He’s just tired. He hasn’t been taking his meds recently. 

Once he’s scrubbed off the entire top layer of his skin and made his curls lay in some semblance of order, he steps out and pulls on the nearest pair of sweatpants.  Oh, my god. He forgot clothes came in more variety than scrubs and suits. Checks his phone. No messages. She must be fine. She has to be fine. 

Thank Christ, he finds food that’s still edible in his fridge. He eats an actual meal, nutritional content be damned, but at least he’s actually hungry. By the time he’s put the dishes in the sink, Josh thinks he may be about to pass out. 

He stumbles to his bed, checks his phone again. No messages. He makes sure it’s on the highest volume. Closes his eyes.

It’s like as soon as he’s vertical, his body finally gives in to every signal of exhaustion it has been sending for the past week. Every muscle is sore, his eyes throb against his skull. Finally, finally, he falls asleep. 

* * *

His phone is ringing. 

Josh opens one eye, which immediately waters at the air hitting it, and sees it on his nightstand, vibrating away. 

Jesus, can’t Leo let him just sleep through the night for once? 

Josh thinks for a second to just let it ring, he _really_ doesn’t want to trek to the White House, he just wants to fucking sleep, is that too much to ask- 

The phone stops ringing.    


For a second, Josh just closes his eyes and thinks that for one night, it should be someone else’s responsibility. 

Then there’s a jolt of nausea in his stomach. Gaza. Explosion. 

Donna. 

He sits bolt upright in bed and tries unsuccessfully to swallow the bile in his throat. He lunges for his phone. 

It was Mrs. Moss. 

He shakily tries to redial it- Jesus Christ, he can’t flashback now, he can’t- he tastes something bitter in his mouth, he thinks there may be some cello playing on a radio somewhere- 

  
  


“Josh?” Mrs. Moss answers on the first ring. Her tone is watery and desperate, and Josh leans over the side of his bed and throws up into wastebasket. 

No, God. Please. 

“Josh, are you there?” 

“Y-yeah,” He says.His voice cracks. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “What’s happening?” 

“Donna- she-” 

Josh can feel his throat closing. He’s going to throw up again. 

“She kept saying her chest was hurting, I should have realized. They had to call a code- she had a pulmonary embolism-” 

Josh digs his nails straight into his wrist. It stings enough to make him not immediately throw the phone across the room and scream. 

“-it’s a-” 

“Blood clot.” Josh finishes. “It’s a blood clot.” 

_ It’s what my father died from.  _

“What’s- what’s happening?” He asks. She still hasn’t said anything. 

‘They have her still in the room, but Josh, you need to come now-” 

_ Not dead. Not dead. Not dead  _

“I’m coming. I’m coming now.” 

Josh feels himself get out of bed, throw on a t-shirt and sweatshirt, haphazardly throw on sneakers, and leave his apartment. 

He knows he’s hailing a taxi, telling him Walter Reed, and sitting in the back. 

He knows he’s in the elevator up to Donna’s floor. 

But he’s actually floating somewhere above it all, unable to really understand what’s happening before him. 

He turns into Donna’s doorway. 

It’s empty. 

The bed is gone, there’s blood on the ground and on the equipment, there are pieces of gauze everywhere he looks, soaked in red. 

Oh, God. 

Josh sags against the doorway. 

He was too late. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ;)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Here it is!!! the final chapter!!! I apologize for the delay- as I'm sure everyone is acutely aware, there's a global pandemic happening. my college was shut down and I lost my job and moved back home, it's been a little bit insane on my end. I hope you all have been staying safe!

“Josh? JOSH!” 

Someone with dark hair swims blurry in front of his vision. 

  
Someone is gripping his face. 

“Josh, buddy, I need you to tell me you can hear me.” 

“Mmph.” Josh manages.

Something is digging into his back. He looks down. He’s slumped on the hospital floor, back to the door jam, and in front of him is,

“Sam?” 

Sam Seaborn is kneeling in front of him in jeans and a sweatshirt and an extremely worried expression. 

“Hi,” Sam says. “Are you okay?” 

“Aren’t you in...California?” Josh mumbles. His head really hurts. 

  
“Well, yes, but right now I’m in DC. Are you okay?” 

“Why’re you in DC?” 

  
“CJ called and told me about Donna.” 

Donna. 

Oh fuck. Donna. 

A jolt of nausea and adrenaline hits his stomach and Josh scrambles up, ignoring the way his vision goes black for a second. 

“Donna? Is she…?” 

“She’s in surgery.” Sam places a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “She threw the clot, but they caught in and she’s in surgery.” 

“Mrs. Moss-” 

“Is downstairs. I was sitting with her but when you didn’t appear in the waiting room I figured you’d done something dumb like assume-” 

  
“Don’t.” Josh cuts in. “Don’t say it.” 

He buries his head in his hands. 

“Josh.” Sam’s tone has softened considerably. “It’s going to be alright. Let’s go wait with Mrs Moss.” 

“Yeah.” 

Josh follows Sam down the hallway. 

“Why are you here?” Josh asks as they get in the elevator. Sam gives him a quizzical look.

“Uh, to see Donna? And you? CJ said you were having a rough time.” 

“Well, yeah, but don’t you have a job-“ 

“Josh. You guys are important to me. I took a few days off.”

“Okay.” 

Josh isn’t really surprised. He’s known Sam for over a decade and he’s pretty sure he would give anyone the shirt off his back. 

Sam leads him into a waiting room, where Mrs Moss is looking very small in a chair. 

“Josh!” She gets up and wraps him in a tight hug, and Josh isn’t sure whose benefit it’s for. 

He appreciates it anyway. When she lets go, he feels a little better. 

“Have there been any updates?” He asks. Mrs. Moss shakes her head. Her hands are shaking again, Josh notices. 

“No, they haven’t been out for a while. But they said it wasn’t good.” 

Her eyes well up with tears and Josh, grateful for a reason to move, goes to get her tissues. 

* * *

He locks the door to the bathroom, and grips both sides of the sink and wonders if he’s going to throw up. 

He’s somewhat aware of being here, in this dingy hospital bathroom, every muscle tense and his stomach threatening to empty itself of the only meal he’d gotten down in days, but he’s mostly gone. 

Distantly, he knows this is bad and that he probably should go see his therapist when all of this is over, but what does _ over _ mean? 

Years ago, after Rosslyn, Josh had struggled. He’d struggled his way through a PTSD diagnosis, a reaffirmation of needing to medicate his anxiety, and he’d struggled his way to putting a hand through his window and wondering if perhaps, the rest of him should follow. 

It was Christmas Eve. 

Donna had driven him to the hospital to get his hand stitched. Donna had driven him home, Donna had made him Chamomile tea and sat on the couch with him and watched Christmas movies. 

Josh isn’t sure he’d still be here if it wasn’t for her. 

* * *

When he emerges from the bathroom with the promised tissues, his eyes are red and bloodshot and his throat is sore. 

Sam gives him a clap on the shoulder, and he sits down next to Mrs Moss, who reaches for his hand, and he squeezes hers tight. 

The hours drag 

drag

drag

on.

It’s silent, except for when Sam pipes up with a funny story of Donna from the campaign, or when Mrs. Moss talks about Donna in high school, chronically underachieving despite being smarter than most every kid in her class. 

Josh can’t talk. 

He’s scared that if he opens his mouth, lots of things will come tumbling out, things he can’t put back in. 

So he just squeezes Mrs. Moss’ hand when she wants a confirmation from him, and she smiles at him, and Josh tries to keep himself from spiraling deeper. 

  
  


After an eternity, a minute, a door opens and Donna’s surgeon comes in, still in his scrub cap. 

Josh immediately stands up. He can’t think. He can’t speak. 

“We encountered a few difficulties during the procedure. She lost a substantial amount of blood. We had to transfuse and call in a vascular surgeon to repair the tear.” The surgeon scrubs at his eyes, looking exhausted.

Josh is halfway to a flashback, shooting pain climbing its way up his chest, his head fuzzy. Then Mrs. Moss is standing next to him, and she takes his hand again. 

“How is she?” She asks. 

“She's still unconscious. As soon as she's stable we'll send her off for an MRI. Between the anemia and the low blood pressure she may have suffered hypoxic brain injury. Decreased oxygen delivery can result in brain damage. We’ll know a lot more once she wakes up.”

Josh finally finds his voice. He can hear “brain damage” bouncing around in his brain, he knows it’s bad, but he thinks if he doesn’t get eyes on her in the next fifteen minutes he might do something stupid. 

“Can I- can we see her?” 

The surgeon nods. 

“She’s in the ICU, so I’m afraid we can only allow two visitors at a time.” 

Josh whips his head around to look at Sam, who understands immediately. 

“Josh, go. Just call me and tell me how she is. I’ll be here.” 

  
“Are you sure?” 

“Go.” 

So they go. 

* * *

And it’s like he’s back in Germany.

She’s so pale. There are red dots littering her cheekbones and around her eyes, her bruises washing out any color there could possibly be. There are tubes coming from her chest, one dripping red into a bag. 

Josh finds the heart monitor, watches her EKG, listens to it beep quiet reassurances. He refuses to acknowledge the possibility of brain damage. He refuses to think. He sits on one side, Mrs. Moss on the other, and he takes her hand, and he tries to convince himself that she’s alive. 

* * *

The sun is beginning to rise. 

There’s a pale pink glow in the window. Mrs. Moss has stepped out to call family and update Sam, and Josh hasn’t let go of her hand in hours. 

He’s leaned back in his chair, mind blank, when he hears something. It sounds kind of like his name, but Donna hasn’t moved, so that can't be right.

And, then, again: 

“Josh?” 

He’s still trying to convince himself he’s not dreaming when, again: 

“Josh? Josh!?” She sounds panicked now, and Josh leaps up from his seat and plants himself right in her field of vision. Her eyes are barely half open. 

“Hey,” He says.

He squeezes her hand. 

She sighs a little. 

“You’re still here.” 

“Yeah.” His heart is all the way in his throat. “I’m still here.” 

“Don’t leave me.” She mumbles. 

“I couldn’t.” Josh says softly. He’s not surprised, at this point, to find that he’s crying again. “Donna, listen, I…” 

She’s looking at him, barely awake, and Josh knows. He fucking knows, with utter and complete certainty, more than he has ever known anything in his entire life. 

“I love you.” He says. 

Donna doesn’t really react. 

“I love you, and I have for a long time, and Donna, it’s okay if you don’t love me back, but I can’t fucking lose you, I can’t leave you, I just-” 

“Josh.” She says, still slurring her words. She squeezes his hand. “I love you, too.” 

He’s stunned silent. Until finally, finally, the words sink in. She loves him. 

  
  


She loves him. 

He’s really crying now, and he’s face down next to her, on her bed, and her hand is on his neck, and he’s so tired, so exhausted, so scared, and so in love with the woman next to him, and he’s feeling for the first time in a long time, that things might be okay. 

* * *

  
  


EIGHTEEN MONTHS LATER

The alarm goes off at an ungodly time. 

Josh doesn’t bother opening his eyes and instead pulls a pillow over his head. 

That is, until another pillow hits him directly on the back. 

“Get up,” Donna says, somewhat muffled. 

Josh pulls his head out from under the pillow to blink passive-aggressively in the direction of his girlfriend, who is dressed only in his t-shirt and some boxers, and is now pulling her hair into a bun and opening the shades to the windows. 

The sun hits him square in the eyes and Josh groans loudly and throws a hand over his face. 

“You’re not nice to me.” He complains. He feels another hit, to his leg this time, and then the bed dips. 

“Mm.” Donna says. She moves his arm off his face, and kisses him. “I guess I could be nicer.” 

  
Josh immediately wonders if the White House would notice if they didn’t come in, and wraps his arms around her to pull her back into the bed. She shrieks and hits his chest, but he just holds her close.

“Nah,” He contemplates, and presses a kiss to a scar just below her hairline. “I like you just the way you are.” 

* * *

  
  


Later, when he’s showered and half-dressed, he wanders out to the kitchen to find Donna standing barefoot in a navy dress and blazer, drinking a cup of coffee. 

Her hair is still wet, and she’s engrossed in whatever news article is on the top page. 

Josh tugs the coffee out of her hands to take a sip, and makes a face at the sweetness. 

“Don’t you dare complain about how sweet it is, that’s my cup, and you stole it.” Donna doesn’t look up from her newspaper, but she lifts one finger to silence the complaint on his lips. 

Josh laughs and takes another sip before moving around her to get yogurt out of the fridge. 

“Consider it retribution for all the years you claimed you weren’t hungry and then stole food off my plate.” 

“Joshua.” Donna finally looks up. “Have you not yet realized that I was flirting with you, all those years?” 

Josh stops, mid-removal of the yogurt top. He had, in fact, considered it, but something about Donna saying it makes it real. 

“Huh.” He says. “Did you like me, or something?” 

Donna rolls her eyes, but laughs. 

“Oh my god, you had a crush on me! That’s so embarrassing for you!” 

“We literally live together.” 

“Still.” He wraps his arms around her again. “So embarrassing.” 

She gives in, and returns the hug. They stand in the middle of their kitchen at 6:30 AM with wet hair and a full day’s worth of work in front of them. 

And Josh silently sends up a prayer to Whoever it was that kept Donna alive through an explosion that took the lives of every other person in the car, kept her alive through crises after crises, kept her here, with him, and kept her happy and healthy and right now, in his arms. 

All was well. 

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> come talk to me @ta1k-less on tumblr!

**Author's Note:**

> anyways! Im back on my bullshit and by bullshit i mean "rewatching the west wing for the fourth time" so come follow me @ ta1k-less on tumblr to hear more about a TV show about politics that ended 15 years ago


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